


feels like home

by milkdaze (flowerstems)



Series: feel good inc. [4]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Day 6, M/M, Olivarry Week, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 20:20:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5062693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerstems/pseuds/milkdaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We're leaving for a while.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	feels like home

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Feels like home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8536870) by [PruePhantomhive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PruePhantomhive/pseuds/PruePhantomhive)



> I don't even know, it's totally pseudo-hurt/comfort because I just wanted to write this. inspired by halsey's 'drive'. Spoilers for Arrow Season 2.

It's a Monday when it happens.

It's a Monday like any other Monday: Barry wakes up late, talks to Oliver on the phone and gets even later, rushes to work with a half-baked excuse and he's so lucky Joe has a soft spot for him, because as usual he backs up Barry's excuse and Barry gets to keep his job.

It's a Monday like any other Monday until Oliver shows up on his doorstep that evening and Oliver hadn't even mentioned he was coming over, so what was this about?

He's about to point that out, play it off as something minor and invite Oliver in, but he stops himself. He has to, he can't make any jokes when Oliver has that distantly haunted look in his eyes, he can't bring himself to say anything until he knows what's going on.

Oliver just stands there for a while then takes Barry's hand and says, “Tell Joe you won't be coming to work for the rest of the week.” Barry just looks at Oliver, he's serious about this, so he nods and calls Joe, _hey Joe. I can't come to work for the rest of the week. Yeah, something’s come up. Mhm, thanks_.

When he hangs up he catches a glimpse of the date and then it all falls into place: it's the day Moira died. The realisation hits hard and he can feel the same kind of empty burn he's sure Oliver is feeling as the grip on his hand tightens.

“Joe's got it covered,” is all Barry can bring himself to say. Oliver nods and tugs at Barry's hand again, pulls him outside.

“We're leaving for a while.”

  


Barry doesn't argue, he just locks the door behind him and gets into an unfamiliar car with Oliver—it's weird to see Oliver behind a wheel, he's so used to seeing him on his motorcycle—and Oliver manages a smile when they're buckled in before he drives them off to wherever.

Barry gets it; Oliver can never bear to stay in Starling for these few days, he’s probably been on the road all day, which explains why they have to make a gas stop two hours later, and if Oliver needs Barry to keep him company for the while, God knows Barry gets it.

  


Barry wakes up to the wind still rushing through his hair and the dim light of the dark blue sky before dawn, his head leaning on Oliver's shoulder and he vaguely thinks he should move. He doesn't.

“Are you up?” Oliver asks quietly, fondness slipping into his voice the same way the sunlight starts slipping over the horizon, slowly but surely.

Barry hums, head still on Oliver's shoulder, and asks, “Did you sleep?” He should know the answer, but he asks anyway.

“A little bit, don't worry.” Oliver should know that won't make Barry worry any less, but Barry lets it slide. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

Oliver chuckles and takes the first turn off the open road since last night.

  


They stop off at a small diner and they sit quietly in the car for a while, Barry still dozing on Oliver's shoulder and Oliver running his hand through Barry's hair, which really isn't helping him stay awake.

The diner isn't too full when they go in, just a few people here and there. The waitresses are overly friendly and give them extra everything when they order, extra pancakes, extra pie, extra drinks.

They probably don't expect either of them to be able to eat it all, but they obviously don't know Barry. He's not sure which is funnier by the time he’s finished eating: the waitresses shocked expressions or the way Oliver struggles to keep a straight face until they pay their bill and leave.

Barry is just glad Oliver manages to laugh the way he does when they got into the car.

  


At their second gas stop, Barry demands to drive. He hopes Oliver will take the hint and rest, but even if he stubbornly stays up, at least Barry knows they won't crash because he let the sleep-deprived man running on grief and the little breakfast he did eat drive through another night.

  


Oliver does stubbornly stay up, saying that Barry doesn't even know where they’re going, only to admit he never had a destination in mind, then quietly leaning on the seat and closing his eyes.

Barry chances a glance at him. “Are you asleep?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you should sleep.”

Oliver snorts a laugh and doesn't respond, trying to keep his mouth in a straight-pressed line and failing for once.

“Thanks. For coming all the way out here with me.”

Barry hums, unable to keep the smile off his face. He wants to tell Oliver he doesn't have to tell him that, but Oliver doesn't even look like he's still awake let alone listening. So he says the next best thing, short and sweet, “Wherever.”

When Barry glances at Oliver again, maybe an hour or so after they spoke, his face looks relaxed and he has the faintest smile ghosting his lips. Barry thinks it's good, it's progress, and it looks great in front of the sunset, spreading more orange across the sky than anything else.

  


The moon is bright white and high in the sky when Oliver wakes up, just after midnight, and he leans against the door for a while before telling Barry to pull over.

The car rolls to a stop and when Barry turns to ask what's wrong Oliver leans over and kisses him soft on the mouth, hand cradling the back of Barry's head, and Barry is only a little sleepy when Oliver pulls away, he swears.

“I'm driving,” Oliver says matter-of-factly and Barry wants to argue, wants Oliver to sleep a little more, but he doesn't have the same kind of willpower Oliver does to stay up all night and just drive.

Barry can stay up all night, sure, but he has to be doing something exciting—experiments do fall into that category and he wishes Oliver was wrong when he calls him a nerd for it.

So they switch places and Barry leans against the door five minutes into the drive. It's colder tonight than usual and every little breath fogs up the glass. Barry decides to entertain himself before falling asleep, breathing onto the glass and doodling here and there in the condensation, chuckling when Oliver laughs at him.

Then he breathes onto the lower corner of the glass and sees the outline of a few letters he didn't write. He squints at them for a while then puffs a few more breaths until he can read the words.

‘Love you.’

He remembers when Oliver leaned against the door right after he woke up and he won't lie, he feels all warm and fuzzy inside, smiling wider and wider as he reads the two words over and over again.

The moon is still bright white and high in the sky when Barry leans over to peck Oliver's cheek, not wanting to distract him from the road but unable to help himself because, “Wow, Ollie, you're such a sap.”

“Shut up,” is the harmless response. Barry notices that little smile has been in place since Oliver got back behind the steering wheel, and it keeps getting wider the longer Barry stares at him. “You got something to say?”

“Yeah,” Barry says, leaning forward to fog up a small corner of his side of the windscreen, drawing a heart in the condensation then leaning back to flash Oliver his cheesiest smile. “Love you too.”

  
It's day three of their road trip and Barry gets Oliver's eyes to light up again by drawing a heart on the windscreen of a car neither of them own.


End file.
